


Pulling Pigtails (Maybe He's Just That Into You)

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Cohabitation, Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, antagonists to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:28:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: Connor struggles to figure out where he's standing with Will and where their relationship is going - if it's even meant to go anywhere.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csichick_2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csichick_2/gifts).



> Thanks to the lovely glitterburn for the beta (and for bearing with all the fluffy fic I've thrown at her lately ;))!

When Connor enters the on-call room, Will is just cleaning the bunk bed and neatly folding up the blanket, sprouting the most spectacular bedhair. Under different circumstances, Connor might consider sleep-rumpled to be a good look for Will, but they've not even started tonight's double shift yet, and Will has no business looking bleary-eyed and tired already.

He looks up at Connor, offering a tense, wordless nod in greeting.

It's gonna be one of _those_ days, then. With Will, it's impossible to know where they stand. One day he's all smiles and friendly teasing, and Connor thinks that they've moved on from the antagonism of their early days of working together. Just a few hours later, they're back to square one, and Will treats Connor like his entire existence – his upbringing, his skills as a doctor, his friendship with Natalie – is a personal affront. Doctors are a moody bunch at the best of times, and working with Latham, Connor has learned not to take every brush-off to heart. But when Will gets all tight-lipped and standoffish, it feels different. More personal, somehow.

Best to leave him alone on days like these, wait until he gets his shit together. Then again, leaving things alone has never been Connor's strongest suit.

"Will." A nod and a small smile that doesn't receive any response. "Why are you looking like you've already wrapped up a shift or three?"

Will shrugs. "I'm fine. No need to worry. Just because I'm not sleeping well doesn't mean it's going to affect my ability to do my job."

"Not at all what I meant, but good to know," Connor snipes back, hackles rising at Will's insistence on taking everything he's saying as an attack. It's only then that he notices the two duffle bags in the corner and the personal laptop buried under a neatly folded suit jacket. It's not the kind of stuff you bring to work on an average day. Or at all, really.

"Wait, are you _living_ at the hospital?" He frowns, dimly remembering Will moaning about finding a roommate and the housewarming party at Nina's that Connor skipped for an ill-advised date with Robyn.

There's a moment when Will won't look at him, busying himself with brushing the blanket smooth against the bottom of the bunk bed, before walking up to Connor and staring him down. "Look, man, don't take this the wrong way, but this is really none of your fucking business."

He demonstratively bumps against Connor's arm as he pushes past him and disappears out of the room. The door slams shut behind him.

Yeah. It's definitely one of those days.

*

Eventually, he hears it from Noah, who's heard it from April, who's heard it from Maggie, who's heard it from Sarah, who's heard it from Joey, who found Nina crying down in the lab. The hospital isn't quite unlike a suburban neighborhood with all the gossiping and the living in each other's pockets, how every budding and breaking relationship becomes scrutinized by everyone.

"Have you talked to Will?" Nat asks, after they just saved the life of a thirteen-year-old whose spleen had been ruptured in a hit-and-run accident. The concern on her face belies the casual tone.

Connor frowns. "I'm pretty sure Will doesn't want to talk. Not to me, at least."

Nat's smile is small and private, the one that says that she thinks he's being an idiot. "Will's very good at building those walls around himself. Something tells me you're stubborn enough to tear them down."

"That sounds like a great plan if I wanted to get punched in the face."

Nat laughs at his sour expression. "I'm sure that would make Will feel better, too."

Connor snorts. "I don't doubt it, but that's a little more altruism than I'm prepared to offer. Or masochism, for that matter."

With a wide grin on her face, Natalie walks backwards away from him, down to where the next patient is waiting. "Think of something else then. Maybe with less violence involved."

Easier said than done.

*

Connor is reasonably sure that Nat meant for him to invite Will out for a drink and get him to open up, provide an open ear and a figurative shoulder to cry on. Perhaps that sort of offer would work, coming from Natalie, but it's not what he and Will are like, not even at their best moments. The day after Will found out that Jennifer Baker was on a placebo, after Connor had bodily stopped him from wrecking his career any more than he already had, they'd found themselves at Molly's, nursing their drinks in silence. There was no sharing, no exchange of heartfelt sympathies and stories to establish some common ground. Some of the tension between them had eased after that, but it was a tentative truce at best.

Still, when he runs into Will at the reception, bowed over a patient's file, on hour fourteen of their shift, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"I know you told me to mind my own business, but I have a spare room with a couch." He can see that Will's ready to argue. Judging by the thin, hard line of his mouth and the frown creasing his forehead, the window of opportunity to get through to him is closing fast, so Connor holds up his hands in a placatory gesture. "I'm just offering. No strings attached, take it or leave it. But we both know that the moment Goodwin finds out you're sleeping at the hospital, you'll be in a world of trouble."

Will opens his mouth, probably about to tell Connor to shove it. He's saved by Maggie, calling him into treatment two where Mrs. Winterstein, 84, is going into cardiac arrest following trauma from a car crash. Then it's all compressions and defibrillation and epi, life or death, and Will's living situation is the furthest thing from his mind.

He doesn't see Will before his shift ends and he quickly scrubs down and catches the train home, bone-tired and exhausted. It's been a long fucking day. Mrs. Winterstein didn't make it. Cara, the kid from the hit-and-run accident is looking stable. You win some, you lose some, but the ones that end badly never stop smarting.

*

It's 3 pm on Saturday afternoon – Connor's first free day in a fortnight – when his doorbell rings.

Standing on his doorstep with his bags at his feet, Will looks chagrined, like he wants to be anywhere else but here. He clears his throat and doesn't meet Connor's eyes. "So. Does that offer still stand?"

Connor can't help wondering if Will's here by choice or if that choice was made for him by Goodwin catching him making himself at home in the on-call room. It's a scene all too easy to envision – and not a pretty one, at that.

If their situations were reversed, Connor's certain that Will would make him work for it. He'd make sure to rub it in and not let him forget that he's been a total dick. But that's not who Connor is. From where he stands, there's little point in deliberately antagonizing Will, no matter how perfect the opening to get in a little dig or two might be.

He wordlessly steps aside and motions Will inside.

*

"You know, this isn't how I imagined your place," Will casually says over Thai take-out because of course he can't stop himself from raising what he considers to be a silver spoon upbringing at every opportunity.

Connor rolls his eyes at him and tells himself that it would be immature to throw a noodle at Will's face. He allows his voice to drip with honey-thick sarcasm, though. "Yeah? Sorry I can't provide a castle-sized loft with marble flooring and golden faucets. I know I must be a terrible disappointment to you."

To his surprise, Will doesn't take offense. Instead, the quip only startles a choked laugh from Will's throat, and genuine amusement lights up his face.

"Not what I meant, but I like the idea. No, I wasn't actually — I wasn't giving you shit, okay. I like the place. It's... comfy. And you don't seem like the kind of guy who goes for comfy, you know." At Connor's incredulous expression, he shakes his head and a pale flush rises up his cheeks. "Fuck you, man, you know what I mean."

"I have absolutely no clue," Connor deadpans. His lips twitch. "But it sounds suspiciously like a compliment, so I'll take it."

Will flips him off and flings a noodle at him. Unlike Connor, appearances of maturity are clearly not something he's terribly concerned with.

*

Connor hasn't had a roommate since he came back to Chicago. He never particularly enjoyed sharing his space with someone before, but for all their differences, Will is surprisingly easy to live with. He cleans up after himself, he doesn't mess with Connor's system of sorting his record collection, and he doesn't steal Connor's smoothies from the fridge. They argue over baseball (because _of course_ Will is a White Sox fan, proud South Side boy that he is) and about who gets to use the shower first on mornings where they're both due at the hospital for the early shift – but given the frequency of their clashes at work, it's astonishingly companionable.

It's nice to have someone to come home to after a long day. Especially on the bad days, when losing a patient hits Connor hard and he doesn't want to be alone but has no interest in talking either, it's good to have someone there who understands what it's like, holding a life in your hand and watching it slip through your fingers.

When Will was virtually homeless and Connor offered, it was meant to be a temporary fix. But whenever he walks in on Will scanning the morning paper for a place of his own he can afford or perhaps someone looking for a permanent roommate, he feels weirdly disappointed. He bites his tongue and swallows the urge to tell Will to stop looking, that he's free to stay as long as he likes.

It's a ratty couch that's probably hell on Will's back and a tiny 150 square feet room – of course Will is looking for something better.

But reasonable or not, the idea still sits uncomfortably with Connor, his abandonment issues rearing their ugly head. Dr Charles would have a field day – not that Connor ever intends on discussing it with him. It's bad enough that Sarah's not-so-stealthily profiling everyone in the hospital and Will's relentless about poking at his family shit; he doesn't need anyone else dissecting his issues.

*

The week before Christmas, there's some charity event meant to attract sponsors for the hospital. Technically, attendance is _optional_ , but Goodwin's made it clear that in this particular case, the definition of the term was 'all of you'd better be there under the pain of death, unemployment or the full force of my disappointment'.

Connor's caught up in the O.R., literally holding someone's heart in his hands, and doesn't make it until the party is already in full gear, the charity part well out of the way and alcohol raising everyone's spirits. Dodging a few of his father's business partners and hoping that his old man isn't actually here himself, Connor unconsciously scouts the room for Will. He finds him at the far back, caught up in a conversation with Maggie and Nat.

When Connor approaches, Will offers a smile that's just a little too relaxed and open for him to be sober, and his hand settles firmly on Connor's shoulder. "Connor, my man! So glad you're here to save me. Those two are badgering me to come out with them and hit a karaoke bar."

Connor raises an eyebrow at Maggie, who shrugs unapologetically. "I'm just saying. Jeff and Noah are already in. You'd make a mean boy band."

Nat laughs out loud, missing the flash of jealousy and resentment on Will's face at the mention of Jeff. As much as Connor would love to see Will make an ass of himself finding his inner Backstreet Boy, he has an inkling that it might end in a competitive clusterfuck at best and a fistfight at worst.

"Sorry, ladies, I've heard this guy sing in the shower, and I think it's against the Convention of Human Rights to subject other people to that kind of torture."

Will lightly punches him in the side with an indignant "hey!", while Maggie raises an eyebrow at them and asks, "You shower together a lot?" and Connor feels his face heat up.

"On that note, I think we're leaving before your overactive imagination gets the better of you," he says, well aware that he's probably making things worse. Next to him, Will won't stop chuckling, but he's not protesting as Connor steers him from the room, offering an apologetic gesture to Goodwin who glares at them from where she's talking to some Wall Street guy.

In the lift, Will leans back and slouches against the back wall, the dopey half-smirk still playing around his mouth. Tipsy and relaxed is a good look on him. He cleans up well, too, wearing a sleek grey pinstripe suit with a familiar dark blue tie that gives Connor pause. The stab of possessiveness he feels at the sight of Will wearing it is both inappropriate and unwelcome, but Connor can't shake it. It had been more of an in-joke than a genuine gift, and he's surprised that Will kept it, let alone actually decided to wear it to an event like this.

Before he can stop himself, he's stepped into Will's personal space, brushing a finger along the silky blue fabric. He's the sober one, he should have better impulse control than this. But Will isn't backing away from the touch, and his eyes are dark and heavy on Connor, pupils blown so wide that they're swallowing the brown of his eyes.

"I take it you liked the tie, then?"

Will's grin becomes wider. "Maybe it was just the only one I had," he suggests, playing up the beaten old working class boy shtick, and Connor's still trying to come up with a good response when Will's fingers wrap around Connor's own tie, thoroughly rumpling it as he pulls him down.

He tastes like cheese and champagne, and the scent of his aftershave makes Connor lightheaded. The kiss is sloppy and insistent, an adrenaline rush that hits him low in the stomach like a sucker punch.

It's not like he hasn't thought about it. Those early weeks in the E.D. when Will wouldn't stop questioning his authority. In the hospital elevator, with Will pressed against the wall and Connor struggling to hold him in place. At home, watching Will walk into the kitchen shower-wet, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. But it was a bad idea then, and it's a worse idea now. They barely get along, and Will's hung up on Natalie. Add alcohol to the mix, and it's bound to end up something they regret.

Will lets go of his tie, hand trailing suggestively down his chest, and Connor knows that if he doesn't put a stop to it now, he won't. He takes a step backwards.

"I don't think we should be doing this, Will." His voice is shot to hell, all raw and wrecked like he's had half a bottle of whiskey for dinner. He feels that way too, light-headed and unsteady, trying hard to resist the gravity pull back towards Will, who's clearly set on not letting Connor get away with the half-assed attempt to push him away.

"No offense, man, but you're full of shit. If anything, we should have done it ages ago."

"I'm not Natalie." It's a shitty thing to say, but Connor's counting on Will's quick-fire anger to flare up, sobering him more effectively than any rational argument could.

Apparently, he miscalculated, because instead of making Will mad, all his words accomplish is bringing out a mischievous smile. "Yeah? Damn, I really hadn't realized." He reaches down, fingers firmly cupping Connor thorough his pants. His treacherous cock twitches in Will's grip. "You're right, you're really not Natalie."

Reaching around Connor, Will hits the stop button.

The elevator grinds to a halt with a screeching sound, and before Connor can protest, he finds himself pushed with his back against the wall and Will's sinking to his knees in front of him, hands fumbling with the buttons of his pants. It's a hell of a rush, watching Will – proud, competitive Will, who refuses to let him have the upper hand in anything ever – kneel before him, his suit getting crumpled and soiled on the dirty floor.

It effectively kills any willpower to protest Connor had left. Clever long fingers are opening the zipper and pushing down his boxers, freeing his aching cock from the confines of his clothing.

Will looks up at him with a victorious smirk, like Connor's state of obvious arousal somehow negates his objections and proves Will right. Even about this, Will's being a smartass – it definitely shouldn't be as hot as it is. But when he swallows Connor down, Connor lets his head drop back against the wall, closes his eyes and stops caring about anything but the warm, wet heat engulfing him.

*

In the morning, waking up naked and tangled in Connor's bedroom, Will is tight-lipped and sullen, barely looking at Connor as he slides out of bed and disappears into the bathroom. There's a headache drumming behind Connor's forehead and a queasy, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he's had too much to drink even though he hadn't in fact touched any alcohol last night.

"I told you it was a bad idea," Connor says quietly when Will steps into the kitchen half an hour later, freshly showered but no less surly than before.

"Jesus, you never let a chance for an 'I told you so' pass, do you?"

The amount of bitterness and resentment in Will's voice makes Connor wince. "Trust me, in this case, I wish I hadn't been right."

Will rolls his eyes and walks over to him. Connor doesn't know what to expect when Will reaches out and steals Connor's cup from right under his nose, downing his coffee like it's a whiskey shot. Any other morning, Connor would be bitching at him to get his own damn coffee – the pod's right over there, for fuck's sake – but the events of the past night have shaken up the status quo thoroughly.

Setting down the empty cup in front of Connor again, Will offers a smile that's a little more like a grimace. "Yeah, well, you weren't. I'm having the mother of all hangovers, I drunkenly promised April to let Noah accompany me on ward rounds next week, and I'm due for a double shift in less than an hour. Trust me when I say that blowing you in the Ritz Carlton's elevator is pretty damn low on my list of regrets this morning. Even though the best suit I own is probably ruined beyond saving."

Will's casual nonchalance throws Connor off. It seems genuine enough, though, and Connor tentatively aims for a joke. "I'd offer to buy you a new one, but you'd just rant at me for rubbing in my wealth."

"Hell, no! It's your fault the suit's all messed up. You should definitely buy me a new one."

Will angles a sharp grin at him and saunters out of the room, but not before grabbing Connor's toast from his plate, taking a bite.

Connor glares at his disappearing back. All things considered, this went better than he expected. Even if he has to get himself some new breakfast.

*

Nat finds Connor on the rooftop enjoying a coffee and some quiet before the haunting, high-pitched beep of his pager will doubtlessly have him rushing down to the E.D. again. She settles against the railing next to him, gloved hands cradling a steaming Styrofoam cup.

"So. You and Will," she says. It's not really a question.

Connor snorts. "I see the rumor mill has worked its magic again."

Nat's lip twitches. "You were wearing his hoodie the other day. The White Sox one? I know for a fact that you're not a fan."

"He's living with me. Maybe I just grabbed the wrong thing from the dryer."

"You also have a hickey.... right there." She pokes at the neckline of his scrubs with gleeful amusement, and Connor remembers this morning in the bathroom, Will crowding him against the shower wall, hips lazily rocking against Connor's while his lips trailed down Connor's neck, fastening at the juncture of his shoulder like a goddamn vampire. Connor would have objected, but between the slick slide of their cocks against each other and Will's teeth worrying the sensitive skin, it had felt too damn good. He flushes at the memory.

"Circumstantial evidence at best. Anyone could have given me that," he argues.

"Sure. But Will was the one who was all over you at the party, and also, you're not exactly denying it, so I call bullshit on your poor attempts at deflection."

She's got a point. Nat knows both of them too well to try and lead her on. Besides, she's a friend. Connor doesn't mind if she knows. It's not like it's meant to be a _secret_ to begin with, but it's hard to be open about a relationship when you don't really know where you stand or where it's going. If it's even meant to go anywhere.

Connor casts a frown into his coffee, as if the rapidly cooling dark liquid held all the answers. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't.

"I don't know what the fuck we're doing," he admits, and his chest instantly feels a little lighter now that he's actually voiced the thing that's been eating him up for weeks, ever since the charity event and the way he and Will have since been sliding into what feels like a fragile truce that happens to include regular orgasms. "Sometimes I think he can barely stand me."

"Oh, Connor," Natalie says with feeling – but it's hard to tell whether the emotion behind it is pity or exasperation. Perhaps figuring out other people's feelings is just not something Connor excels in. He's good with hearts, but only when they're on an operating table in front of him.

"Have you seen Will around someone he truly doesn't like? He gets all cool and quiet and painstakingly polite. That push and pull, when he keeps blowing up in your face over nothing, the way he's been treating you right from the start? That means he cares." She smiles a private little smile. "I'm afraid he's kinda stuck in the pulling pigtails phase the average boy grows out of when they reach puberty."

Connor snorts because, yeah, he can see it. "You make him sound like a total catch."

"Why do you think him and me never happened? I like him, but I don't have patience for that sort of thing. He pushes and pushes, and it just upsets me. You keep pushing back. I think he needs that." Natalie crumples her coffee cup. "Don't worry too much. I'm sure you guys can figure things out."

She gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before making her way back to the staircase. Right on time, Connor's beeper goes off, like the universe telling him to get out of his head and back to work.

*

Dr. Iris Mahone is their new oncology resident, a confident dark-haired 29-year-old with striking blue eyes who starts hitting on Will the moment they were introduced. Connor wants to like her because she's smart and a good doctor and she has a way with patients, especially kids. But it's hard not to feel the tug of jealousy whenever Will smiles at her, and for the first time he understands Will's initial hostility towards Jeff.

He tries to stay out of her way when he can, especially when she's working with Will, so when he rounds the corner and finds them talking in treatment five, he doesn't mean to eavesdrop.

He only catches the tail end of their conversation.

"— flattered, but I'm kinda seeing someone," Will says.

Amusement is swinging in Mahone's voice. "Kinda? That doesn't sound like you're sure."

It instantly makes Connor's hackles rise, but Will just laughs. "I— No. I am sure. I'm seeing someone. Sorry," he says, and that tight, unpleasant feeling in the pit of Connor's stomach that he's been carrying around finally eases.

From the doorway, he clears his throat, making his presence known. The sight of the instant flush on Will's cheeks when he looks up and realizes that their convention was overheard is strangely rewarding.

"Sorry, Dr. Mahone, I need to borrow Dr. Halstead here for a second," Connor says, not sounding the slightest bit sorry at all.

"Never mind. I was ready to head out anyway." She offers a brief, polite smile. "Dr. Rhodes. Will."

He waits until she's out of earshot before he turns to Will. He doesn't quite manage to keep the smug grin from his face. "So, you're kinda seeing someone? Anything serious?"

"Eh, I don't know. He's pretty hot, but he's also an arrogant prick. I haven't really decided if he's worth all the trouble." But even as he's talking, he's grabbing Connor by the front of his scrubs, pulling him further into the room and quickly drawing the curtains closed behind them. Before Connor can think of a snarky comeback, Will's lips are on his.

Connor groans softly into the kiss. Their shift ended twenty minutes ago. It's not like anyone's gonna come looking for them, and yet — "We're going to be in so much trouble if Maggie finds us." He hates to put a stop to this, but someone has to be the grown-up person in this relationship, and it's clearly not going to be Will.

Laughing, Will pulls them towards the empty gurney. "Pretty sure I saw her giving me a thumbs up when I pulled the curtain."

His fingers brush the waistline of Connor's pants as he angles his head up and deepens the kiss, and Connor decides to take Natalie's advice and stop worrying for a while.

End.


End file.
